Second Chances
by ShipperWriter
Summary: Two teenagers are forced into dinner with their fathers. Boy never shows. Girl always wonders. Teen!Sparky, different perspective ...
1. Washington DC

"Second Chance" by ShipperWriter

Summary: Two teenagers are forced into a dinner together with their fathers. Boy never shows. Girl always wonders … teen!Sparky fic.

Author's Notes: This story is something I wanted to try, because it's not "we actually met before Atlantis" but it's "we almost met before Atlantis … a lot … and we never knew it" … So we'll see how this goes!

Let me know what you think!

* * *

"Dad, do I really need to go with you?"

The trim seventeen year old girl stood at the entrance to her father's study, arms akimbo with a disgruntled expression plainly showing on her face.

"Yes, you do. You would be doing me a great favor, and you might get some new beneficial acquaintances." Robert Weir sat behind his desk, reading glasses on the tip of his nose as he perused through some manila folders sitting on his desk. His daughter shook her head, soft brown curls swaying in disarray.

_I have better things to do than to socialize with your potential fundraiser donors,_ she desperately wanted to tell him, leaving the subject at that and strutting back to her room. Her father was well respected in Washington, known for never leaving a new acquaintance without plans to play golf soon after.

"I understand how much this means to you," Elizabeth carefully worded, not making it sound as if she was in agreement at last, "but I need to finish filling out my papers for Georgetown."

Her father sighed, taking the glasses off his nose and setting them on the desk. "Can't you do that later?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Good, it's settled," Robert concluded with a short smile before replacing his spectacles. "It'll be fine. I promise, you'll enjoy this."

* * *

The door slammed.

Again.

He ran a hand through his hair, silently contemplating breaking the door down.

"John, come out now."

"Dad, I'm not playing your pansy. I'm not going with you."

"John Patrick Sheppard, you come face me right now, or I swear I will have your Mustang towed."

That got to him.

The annoyed teen swung the door open, harshly hitting the brace on the floorboard as it did so.

John Sheppard slumped over to his father, glancing up at him. "Don't bring my car into this," he bristled sarcastically. "This is between you and me."

"John, you're a member of this family, which means you have obligations you need to fulfill."

"My obligation is to keep your shiny name scuff free. You don't need the model son. That's what you have David for."

His father almost nodded vigorously, but quickly suppressed the urge. "Yes, well, if David wasn't doing an internship in New York City, _because he filled out his college applications on time_, then I wouldn't be telling you to do this."

"You'd be dictating me, no matter what David or anyone else is doing!"

"That's enough!" his father bellowed, causing John to step back for a moment.

Just then, a door opened down the hallway.

Maureen Sheppard held her purse in one hand, a coat in the other. "I'm going out. I'll be back later."

Patrick Sheppard only nodded, gaze still intently concentrated on his unruly son.

John looked behind him as his mother walked away. "You treat her worse than you do me," he remarked simply, slowly turning to face his father again, almost appearing as if he expected to be slapped.

He had reason to. Patrick had let his hand fly on more than one occasion.

Instead of getting physical, he only glared harder at his son. "Get dressed. Be ready to go in a half hour."

He turned on his heel and left his son in the corridor, hands stuffed in his pockets, chewing on his lip.

* * *

Elizabeth silently protested as she entered her room, opening the closet to decide what to wear.

_This is ironic,_ she thought to herself. _I don't want anything to do with the very thing that my life revolves around._

Behind her, someone tapped on the door. "Lizzie?"

She sighed. "Come in, Dad."

Robert moved into the room, hands behind his back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pressure you into coming. Normally, your mother would come, but-"

"No, Mom's not feeling well yet. I don't want her to feel obligated to go." She rifled through a few suits that she had hanging up, trying to decide on one, then she cast a mournful glance at her desk. She had small stacks of paper for each college she was applying to. Her father had already declared, confidence flooding over, that it wasn't _if_ she got in. The important part was picking the best one.

Through her whole life, it had been nothing but the best for her.

She was starting to feel slightly suffocated.

"What about that one?" her father asked, pointing to the back of the row.

A simple black suit hung, perfectly hemmed pants with a smart jacket to match. All that it wanted was a proper shirt for under the jacket. But which color?

"You're going to pick the red one," her father told her, knowingly with a disarming smile.

She chuckled. "I always do."

* * *

John threw himself onto the bed, kicking a foot into the empty air.

_This isn't my life_, he kept repeating again and again, hoping the mantra would come true. His dad had made millions, expected his perfect little family to always support him, to always follow through on every whim he had. They were to shake the right hands, to use the right silverware, to say the right things, to behave the right way.

His brother eagerly dove right in.

His mother tried to distance herself from the monster she didn't know she had married.

He wanted to disappear altogether. He wanted to disown himself from his family.

John groaned quietly, running a hand through the hair that wouldn't behave. His father always told him to have it nicely kept, but as much as he wanted it to be, it wasn't styled that way on purpose.

It fought against the family all on its own.

John smirked at the quiet words that escaped his lips. "I wanna be like my hair," he chuckled.

He sat up, giving his room a contemplative glance.

A tailored suit that his father's secretary had picked out hung behind his door. _Costs way too much_, was all John could think.

His desk was covered in college applications, mostly ones that his father kept dropping there.

There was one his father didn't know about. One that John actually had filled out.

It was his backup plan.

John stood from the queen size bed and walked around his room, making a mental checklist. What he could take with him, what he could bear to leave behind.

His old copy of "War and Peace" that his grandfather had given him. "Coming."

The skateboard in the corner that his father put way too much money - but not enough heart - into for Christmas a few years ago. "Stays."

The aviator sunglasses that stayed on his head, no matter how fast or how awkward he was positioned. "Coming."

The Johnny Cash poster he had bought for a dollar when he was a kid, the main priority when he moved. "_Definitely_ coming."

He grabbed a duffel out of his closet, gathered the things he deemed essential, left a note on the desk, and easily slipped out the second story window as he had done millions of times before.

Thank God this was the last time.

* * *

The maitre d' escorted Elizabeth and her father into the upscale restaurant, leading them into a secluded area in the back near the entrance to the kitchen. This wasn't a new experience for her; her father had many business dinners here, and was a regular in any case.

A man sitting by himself caught her eye. As they navigated closer to the table, she realized that this must be the man that Robert Weir had come to meet. He had distinguished silver hair, despite only being in his late forties, she estimated. It seemed to have a pull that defied gravity, but the copious amount of product in his hair kept it in what she referred to subconsciously as the Capitol Hill cut. It was the style that all the politicians, their supporters, and the wannabes would sport, trying to fit in to that world.

As he stood with a slight smile to greet the Weirs, Elizabeth noticed the fourth seat that remained tucked under the table. Vacant.

She heard her father introduce her, saying, "My daughter, Elizabeth." Automatically, as if trained from the womb, she extended her hand, plastering her most charming yet diplomatic smile on her face.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sheppard."

With a firm grip, he released her hand. "Please. Call me Patrick."

She nodded but refrained with a polite smile as she sat down, her chair being pulled out for her.

Elizabeth kept a part of her mind in the ensuing discussion, occasionally commenting on something while a question kept aggravating her. Every time that one of them would stop talking, she started to interject her query, but the men didn't like the silence for long and would resume their conversation. She waited until the waiter returned, when the men finally paused for a split second in their discussion, then quickly asked, "Was your son unable to accompany you?"

Patrick Sheppard's face twitched strangely for a moment, so quick that if you blinked you never would've seen it. "Yes, my son David is interning in New York."

"I thought you said John was coming with you," Robert said, taking a drink of his Scotch afterwards.

Elizabeth looked back at Sheppard. The strange look was obvious on his face this time. Addressing Elizabeth with a low voice, he told her "I have another son, John, the youngest. He, um, decided to make himself unavailable tonight." He abruptly unraveled his napkin and changed the subject.

For the rest of the meeting, for that's what it was, a business meeting which happened to take place over dinner, the teenager sat in her seat, silently deciding for herself what kind of person this John Sheppard must be. He disregarded his family's wishes. Judging from his father's appearance but taking into consideration his rebellious nature, he must be a handsome, yet wearisome young man. Just from this basic opinion of him, it sounded like someone that she would hope never to encounter.

So why was she so upset inside that John Sheppard wasn't here?

* * *

TBC …


	2. Afghanistan

Sorry for the wait, thought I'd type a little short one, and end it with the 3rd chapter. When that will be up, who knows!

Thanks for reading!

Second Chances Chapter Two

* * *

Elizabeth Weir held her arms tensely in front of her. She had been securely brought in to help negotiate on the front lines of yet another Godforsaken war. Yet again, someone had snitched and she had almost died. She and the contingent that she came with had been crowded into a cell, awaiting the unknown.

One of the men let out a frustrated huff. "This is ridiculous."

He groaned as someone elbowed him in the side.

She turned around, sparing a glance to the other men in the waiting room.

"We're perfectly fine, no scratches. We're lucky that pilot got us when he did."

Elizabeth shook her head softly. "I still wonder why they won't let us see him. At least to say thanks."

She spotted a higher ranking officer walking past the door. "Excuse me," she murmured, quickly escaping the room to speak to the colonel.

"Colonel!"

The older man stopped and turned around. "Dr. Weir. How are you?"

"Aside from a slight headache, perfectly fine. The pilot, the one who rescued us?"

He shook his grey head. "Sorry, you know his name?"

She opened her mouth, then clamped it shut. "Now that you mention it, no, I didn't get his name. I think his call sign was 'Sparky'."

"Hmm. We just got some new personnel on base, not sure who everyone is just yet. In any case, we have a C-130 ready to fly out, and your team has a ticket home. You sure you don't want to get that looked at?"

She tenderly touched the black eye that was swelling. "No, I'm all right. I experienced worse as a child. Sending us home?"

He nodded. "The situation is getting too tense. Your team was brought in as a last resort. My superiors received their orders directly from the embassy. Sorry, there's nothing I can do."

She shook her head in resignation; after today's incident, maybe it was time to go. "All right, then. When do we leave?"

"Plane's refueling right now. Get your team together. You leave Kabul in one hour."

* * *

_All right. This wasn't the brightest move._

His heli had crashed.

Two of the team were dead.

The third was so severely injured that he could barely walk.

And there were insurgents all over the place, hiding in every nook and cranny.

Not to mention the sand that was grating in places he didn't know sand could get into.

Pushing his personal, selfish discomfort aside, he groaned as he pulled the soldier across the sand.

"C'mon, stay with me," he urged through gritted teeth.

The soldier nodded, almost in a stupor. Considering the amount of blood that he had lost, it was a miracle he was conscious.

Then his head slumped.

John smirked. _So much for that_.

This wasn't quite what he bargained for when he ran away from home and joined the Air Force. He loved flying. He loved people. The soldiers he had met here were so strong, so loyal, he felt envious that he was forced to wait to have this kind of bond until adulthood.

He viewed his responsibilities very seriously. Especially the no body gets left behind part. He had long ago gotten out all the anger and aggression that he felt towards his father. His mother had died while he was away. David was still his father's number one, right hand man. Just like Daddy wanted.

And the rebellious son with the even more defiant hair had just pulled off one daring rescue and was currently - unsuccessfully - attempting a second in the same day.

He only caught a glimpse of the negotiation team that he flew out. Two men, one woman. What woman in her right mind would deliberately fly to the middle of a tense war zone to try and talk things out?

What a ridiculous occupation.

John preferred flying and shooting. The preceding on a continuous basis. The latter only when necessary.

He groaned and kept shifting through the sand.

* * *

TBC with one last chapter!


	3. Antarctica and Atlantis

Second Chances, Chapter Three, by ShipperWriter

AN: So this is the last chapter that ties everything together. Not very deep, but a different twist on the what-ifs. Hope you enjoyed!

* * *

Antarctica. 2004.

_If only General O'Neill would agree to let us use the Zero Point Module!_

Dr. Elizabeth Weir leaned against the table in Dr. Daniel Jackson's informal office, the nagging cold at the back of her mind as she sighed, frustrated. Next to her, Dr. Rodney McKay was racking his mind, trying to find another way to convince the general to allow them to use the ZedPM. Granted, it was an important line of defense for Earth, but at the same time, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity that they needed to take advantage of now. When might they get this chance again?

She knew that their odds would be better if the Ancient gene candidates were more promising. So far, their best one, Dr. Carson Beckett, had almost blown up the helicopter that Jack O'Neill had arrived in.

Again, not promising. And it didn't help anything that the Scottish doctor was incredibly nervous when he attempted to use the Ancient Chair.

She was pondering why having three doctors in the room wasn't producing a more productive argument.

"You think there are more of these … Zed things in Atlantis?" O'Neill asked, the conversation starting to head in their direction.

After a discussion of the repurcussions, mainly with the journey being one way, it seemed that O'Neill was finally ready to allow them to take the ZPM and go to Atlantis.

She suddenly heard a concerned, "Dr. Weir! Don't move!"

She walked to the opening, where Carson ran up to her, panting.

"What is it?"

"There's something you need to see. Quickly!"

The group followed his lead and ran back to the Chair.

A man in an Air Force uniform sat in the Chair. The _active_ Chair.

"Who is this?" she demanded, glancing rapidly between Carson, the major in the chair, anyone who could give her an answer.

O'Neill stood next to the base of the chair, staring at the man in disbelief. "I said don't touch anything," he reprimanded, slightly sarcastic.

"I - I just sat down," the anxious man with the crazy hair replied innocently, totally unaware of what was going on.

"Major. Think about where we are in the solar system," McKay ordered, focusing intently on him.

Elizabeth quickly put two and two together. He must have been the pilot that brought O'Neill here.

Within five seconds, there was a full fledged map of the solar system, as well as a graphical scale, projected above their heads.

She beamed at everyone around her. _He naturally has the gene_, she realized in silent amazement.

With his disbelieving stare upwards, he asked, "Did I do that?"

Elizabeth wanted to laugh, but contained herself. No one had accessed the chair like that since the last time that then-Colonel O'Neill had been sitting there. Now that the general had pretty much given his approval for the expedition to take the ZPM, she only needed to convince this young man to come along.

She looked at General O'Neill. "General, does the major have clearance?"

"He told me he did," Carson replied through gritted teeth.

The major shrugged. "Sorry, Doc."

"Eh, it's all right. If it means that Rodney isn't going to glue me to that chair, I'm forever in your debt."

O'Neill cleared his throat. "Actually, Major Sheppard was just piloting me here. He doesn't know anymore than what you've told him."

Something akin to an alarm went off in the back of Elizabeth's mind.

_Sheppard. _

_No. It couldn't be._

_Could it?_

* * *

After Daniel Jackson had thoroughly debriefed one Major John Sheppard after watching him sign non-disclosure agreement after non-disclosure agreement, the poor overwhelmed pilot sat in the archeologist's office, head in his hands, buzzing with a slight headache.

A small voice cleared in front of him. The woman that he'd seen earlier, who seemed to be in charge of this operation, held two aspirin and a bottled water. She smiled kindly at him. "Thought you might need this."

"Yeah. Thanks," he replied, accepting the water, throwing the pills back with a small swig.

She took a seat in front of him. "John Sheppard, right?"

"That's me."

She chuckled. "The irony."

"Excuse me?"

She gazed around the room, finally settling back on him. "We were supposed to meet. A long time ago. At a dinner that our fathers forced us to go to."

He squinted, then remembered the name that General O'Neill had mentioned earlier.

_Weir. Dr. Elizabeth Weir._

"You're Robert Weir's daughter," he surmised as the recognition dawned on him.

She nodded, extending her hand. "A pleasure to finally meet you."

There was a reassuring twinkle in her eyes as he took her hand, shaking it firmly.

He honestly replied, "Likewise."

"So, I know it's been rather tremendous day for you, Major. But do you mind if I talk with you, just for a moment?" she asked, taking a seat in front of him as if she already knew he would say yes.

"Sure," he answered, leaning back in his chair, uncapping the water for another swallow.

"Do you actually believe everything that has just been told to you?" she inquired point blank.

He smirked. "I just got attacked by an alien UFO, then sat down in a chair that automatically reclined because of some funky DNA I have, then I pulled up a 3D map of the solar system. I'm gonna go with yeah."

She smiled. "How much did Dr. Jackson fill you in about our expedition?"

"He gave me the rundown. This, uh, Stargate thing, you type in some stuff, go to other planets, but you wanna go someplace that's not even in the galaxy? That about right?"

"Just about. The place we're attempting to reach, Atlantis, the Lost City, has the same technology as the chair that you naturally can power, but the technology there, while we don't know exactly what all it can do, is far more amazing than a simple weapons outpost here on Earth. Some of the other members can barely turn it on. You sit down and-"

"Yeah, I get your point," he interrupted, holding up a hand. "What do you want from me?"

She leaned forward from her seat in front of him. "I want you to come with us."

He rolled his eyes. "No offense, ma'am, but if you've seen my record, you'd know that I'm probably the last person you'd want with you. Besides, I'm happy where I am."

"John," she asked in earnest, meeting his wavering eyes. "I _have _seen your record. I read as much as I could about the incident in Afghanistan. What I couldn't access, I pulled from memory."

He ran a hand through his hair. "What are you talking about?"

"Just before you tried to save the lives of those three soldiers, you flew a negotiation team back to the airbase in Kabul. Do you remember that at all?"

He nodded. "Yeah, two guys and a … girl," he trailed off as he suddenly understood.

"You saved my life that day, and I never got the chance to thank you." She shrugged good-humouredly at him. "I got my second chance today. I think you deserve one, too." She left him to stir on that thought as she stood and left the room.

Just before she passed the divide, he called out, "Dr. Weir?"

"Yes?" she responded immediately, turning to face him.

"I'll think about it."

She nodded in acceptance. "I'll take that."

Then she left the room.

* * *

_Atlantis. Four years later._

"Elizabeth? Open the door, please? This is ridiculous!"

He heard nothing but silence from the interior room.

John Sheppard groaned in frustration, glaring at the door, wondering if he could somehow force it open just because of the gene. She was in another mood, and he didn't know why. He walked away from the door, glancing at it every so often, until he arrived at the work desk that was used way too much in their quarters.

He shifted through some papers, mentioning it aloud to her in hopes of drawing her out of the bathroom where she had locked herself in. She was acting like a five year old. He expected this kind of behavior from McKay, not her.

As he let out another sigh, a red mark on a calendar shot through the clutter, capturing his attention.

He pulled it out, careful not to let the other papers flutter off the desk, and the light bulb exploded in his mind with the force of a nuke.

It was time.

He ran back to the door, ready to pound on it, until it opened in front of him, his wife slowly making her way out with a plastic device in her hands. Eyes wide, she couldn't even bring herself to give a head shake, one way or another.

He cautiously gripped her small, quivering hands as he rotated it to see the signs.

"Yes," she finally managed to croak, just before John realized what this meant.

The calendar. The positive. The wait.

She was still two months along.

He threw his arms around her, holding her tightly and carefully, trying not to laugh aloud right in her ear.

Carson had warned them that after the first miscarriage, it might be more difficult to carry a pregnancy to term. Elizabeth had been working so much, not taking care of herself as usual, that by the time they had realized that she was with child, it had been too late, and it became apparent that the embryo wouldn't survive long.

They had been trying again for almost six months, but it never seemed to take.

Until, on one of her bimonthly visits to the infirmary, Carson had run her bloodwork three times until he guardedly confirmed it. She was pregnant again.

The first time, she hadn't even noticed her period being absent until it was too late.

This time around, she let out a small whoop when it didn't come.

It had been at six weeks when they lost the first time. Carson urged her to be careful, take all her vitamins, eat regularly, engage in some light exercise, and report in every week. The longer that she made it past that time frame, the better chances they would have in carrying this baby to term.

And at the moment, John felt like walking on air.

He pulled back from her, keeping his grip on her upper arms. "You sure? You wanna try another one?" he asked, waiting for a small smack from Elizabeth.

She rolled her eyes. "This is the third one."

He hugged her again, then kissed her heartily. When he pulled back, he could only smirk.

"Why is it the universe keeps giving us second chances?"

She only smiled before she grasped his head, pulling him down into another kiss.

Then another one.

FIN.

* * *

Hope you all enjoyed this! Please click the little button below ... reviews make my world go round.

And chocolate. And Mountain Dew. And Starbucks. And cookies ...


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